Surprisingly Adept
by Snoodle
Summary: [Liberty's Kids] After the war, Sarah goes to England with her parents for a few months. Rather than a pleasant vacation, however, she finds herself in a somewhat scandalous romance. ;) (Eventual S-J.)
1. Mother England

"Well, here we are!" Lady Anne Phillips said with a broad smile. She bounced onto the Southampton dock and made straight for the two-horse cab parked at their end of the street.  
  
Sarah surveyed the scene before her and sighed inwardly. England just wasn't the same for her any more—it was too stiff, too tradition-heavy. She already felt as though she had to put on her best manners just to walk around in the city.  
  
She had been missing the freshness of New York for the whole duration of the voyage across the Atlantic. Seeing the overly precise order of the busy dock only made her homesickness worse.  
  
From the look on his face, her father felt the same way. Sarah slipped her hand into his and squeezed it. "Don't worry, Father," she said softly. "It's only for a little while until the land sale goes through."  
  
Samuel Phillips smiled wryly. "You don't know your mother like I do," she said. "We'll be lucky if we're back home by Christmas."  
  
"Father, don't exaggerate," Sarah chided. "It's June."  
  
Her father's expression did not change. "I know."  
  
They reached her mother, who was happily telling the coachman about their plans for the visit. "Sam! Sarah!" she exclaimed. "This gentleman has kindly offered to drive us to the Lambeth estate tomorrow." She turned back to the coachman and picked up their earlier conversation. "And then on Monday we simply must call on Alice Pembroke, the war was so upsetting to her, poor darling, I hope she's managing all right, and then there's Mary Stewart with whom I haven't talked in ever so long..."  
  
Sarah looked up at her father. "I think you may be right," she murmured.  
  
**  
  
One good thing had come out of the Phillips' extended visit to England: Sarah was now in possession of three beautiful new fancy gowns. Her mother, realizing that their stay in London coincided with the ball season, had decided that it would be a lovely way of introducing Sarah to fashionable society if they were to make an appearance at the most important parties of the year. So off to the clothier's they went, and a month later the most dazzling clothing Sarah had ever seen arrived on their doorstep.  
  
Tonight was the first of the parties, and Lady Phillips was in a bustle over the preparations. (Major Phillips was, wisely, staying downstairs and out of the women's way.)  
  
Sarah was in her dressing room with her mother and Maggie, her lady's maid.  
  
"I'll wear the yellow one tonight," Sarah decided, fingering the bright silk. "I like it with my hair."  
  
"Your hair!" her mother exclaimed suddenly. "We must do something with it! I'd completely forgotten!"  
  
"Um," Sarah said, looking in the mirror.  
  
"Have Maggie see what she can do," her mother said. "Maybe something curled?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Maggie said. "I'll heat the iron."  
  
"And maybe some of my pins in it, too," Lady Phillips said. She looked at Sarah appraisingly. "Yes. The butterflies will do nicely."  
  
"Er," Sarah said.  
  
"I will go find your father," her mother said. "We should be prepared to leave in two hours."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Maggie repeated.  
  
Lady Phillips swept out the door . Maggie curtsied and left to heat the irons.  
  
"Well, I think this will be delightful," Sarah said to the empty room.  
  
** end Chapter One  
  
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! This was really the intro chapter—we'll be seeing some more actual plot soon. If you read it, please leave a bit of feedback! It's not that hard, look! There's even a little box, right there at the bottom! Every little bit helps; even a "um, dude, how OOC was Major Phillips?" or a "OMG WTF Henri/Lafayette 4EVAR!!!" is appreciated. (But mostly feedback of the first sort. :D) 


	2. An Unexpected Meeting

Sarah fanned herself and cast a longing glance at the refreshments table. The party was not so much delightful as it was hot, crowded, and noisy, and although Sarah felt that she looked quite grown-up in her new dress and elegantly curled hair, no one had yet asked her to dance.  
  
Her parents had disappeared in the direction of the champagne the instant they entered the room; it was hot and stuffy; there were too many people breathing; and a tall gentleman was blocking her way to the punch bowl. There was nothing for it—she needed something to drink.  
  
"Excuse me," she said, touching the gentleman's shoulder, "would you be so kind as to—**_James?!_**"  
  
"A heh," the gentleman said.  
  
Sarah gaped at him, her fan frozen in her hand. "You're supposed to be running a paper in Manhattan!"  
  
"Um, right, about that," James said nervously.  
  
"What are you _doing_ here?" She noticed unhappily that her voice was shriller than she would have liked.  
  
"I came to visit Henri," he said defensively. "The paper's doing fine, and you aren't the only one who wanted an overseas vacation. General Lafayette and his family put me up."

"That's in France," Sarah pointed out, her hands on her hips.

"Well—while I'm in Europe, I thought I'd do a story on King George," James retorted. He puffed up his chest and extended his arms. "It will be a brilliant article. 'Is There A Method To His Madness?' A scathing expose on the man who lost America to America forever."

Sarah laughed, delighted. "And will you interview His Majesty personally?"

"If I can," James grinned.

She shook her head, still smiling. "That still doesn't explain why you're _here_," she said pointedly.

"I'm establishing a presence in England," he said. "I'm surprised at you, Miss Phillips. Every good reporter knows to do that before they conduct any interviews."

"Well, why don't you interview me?" Sarah asked, tilting her head. "You've already established a presence _here_."

James scratched behind his ear and looked rather uncomfortable. "It would be a conflict of interest," he said after a moment.

Sarah frowned. "Conflict of—whatever do you mean?"

James looked even more uncomfortable. "It's just—"

"Sarah, darling!" Her parents chose that moment to appear, breathless, beside her. "I believe we are ready to depart," her father announced.

Lady Phillips emitted a most undignified giggle.

James looked crestfallen. "Well, I'll see you later," he said.

"Yes, do," Lady Phillips said airily. "Sam, why don't you call the coach?"

Major Phillips bowed elaborately and kissed his wife's hand. "As my lady wishes."

She giggled again. Sarah was becoming most unnerved, and desperately grasped for what propriety still remained in the conversation.

"Mother, Father," she said formally, "may I present Mr. James Hiller. James, my mother Lady Anne Phillips and my father Major Samuel Phillips."

Sarah's father squinted. "Have we met?"

"I—er—" James frowned.

"No matter, boy!" Major Phillips clapped him on the back, hard enough that James started coughing. "You look to be a fine lad. Why, we've been after Sarah for years to—"

"Father!" Sarah exclaimed quickly, looking at James. "Don't you have to fetch the coach?"

"Oh, _yes_," he said, and after winking theatrically at his wife, nearly tripped in his haste to leave the room. 

Sarah's mother snorted; Sarah fiercely wished that she were somewhere (anywhere!) else. James coughed again.

"Are you a friend of Sarah's?" Lady Phillips asked abruptly.

"Er, yes," James said. He looked despondently at Sarah, who added, "From America, Mother."

"I've always liked America," her mother said vaguely.

"Me too," James offered.

Major Phillips reappeared at the door, saving James from any more of Lady Phillips' small talk. "Your carriage awaits, ladies," he said.

"It had been a true delight meeting you," Sarah's mother said to James. "Do call on us at Bellevue, my sister's residence; we shall be staying there until February."

"February?" Sarah asked resignedly.

"We'll talk," her mother said, and swept her out of the room. Craning her neck, Sarah saw James waving half-heartedly and shaking his head.

**

The carriage ride home was enormously uncomfortable for Sarah. She sat across from her parents, who seemed to be unable to keep themselves from making quote-unquote "witty" innuendoes and planting sloppy kisses on each others' faces. She was tremendously grateful when they arrived at the front gate of their manor, and she leapt out of the coach without even waiting for the footmen to help her down.

"I'mgoingtobedseeyouatbreakfast!" she called behind her, and took the steps up to her room two at a time.

As Maggie took down her hair and brushed it out, Sarah kept thinking back to James and their odd encounter that night. "I only wish Mother hadn't been so embarrassing," she thought. "I can't imagine what he thought of us."

Finally, Maggie left the room and closed the door, and Sarah clambered into bed and blew out the candle. 

"I am glad to see him, though," she thought sleepily.

*** end Chapter Two

A/N: Thanks to my reviewers, Pottergirl and jerseygirl13! I thought I'd give a plug here to the Pursuing Happiness forum at inspired me to write this fic in the first place. 'Tis a very cool Liberty's Kids site—go check it out!

Edit: have changed the name of Sarah's aunt's estate from "Castlehaven" to "Bellevue" upon the realization that Catlehaven is, um, in Ireland. Whoops.

Feedback is, as always, appreciated. Thanks for reading!


	3. The Morning After

Sarah woke early the next morning, despite the excitement of the previous evening.

Sarah's parents did not wake early. In fact, Sarah was halfway through her eggs and bacon when they finally stumbled into the breakfast room.

Lady Phillips blinked at the sunlight streaming in through the paned windows. "It certainly is bright all right, isn't it?" she said wonderingly.

"It certainly is," her husband replied with a yawn. He spied the steaming platter of sausage and grinned broadly. "Don't mind if I do."

"I suppose, dear." Lady Phillips looked as if she were going to be sick.

Sarah set down her fork and cleared her throat. "I thought I'd go riding alone this morning," she said hesitantly.

"Yes, dear," her father said.

"Um. Really?" Sarah hadn't expected that her parents would let her ride by herself on an unfamiliar estate.

Her mother was looking everywhere but the window and the food. "Of course, darling. Be back before lunch."

"Of course," Sarah said quickly. "May I be excused?"

"Yes, yes," her mother said hastily.

Sarah shot a quick glance at her father, who was practically eating the plates off the board, and bolted for the stables. On her way out of the room, she nearly collided with a doorman bearing a note on a silver tray. "Sorry, Edward!" she called over her shoulder.

Edward looked after her with a surprised expression on his face. He opened his mouth as if to call her, but she was already around a corner.

Lady Phillips stared bemusedly after her daughter. "I wonder what _that_ was all about," she said.

"I beg your pardon," Edward said, "but there is a note for Miss Phillips."

"Oh?" Lady Phillips asked with a slight frown. "From whom?"

"A Mr. James Hiller," Edward replied. "He left no return address with the night doorman."

"Oh. Well, leave it here, Sam and I will have a look at it."

"As you wish." Edward bowed and left the tray on the table.

** end Chapter Three

A/N: Intrigue! Hangovers! Intrigue! Thanks to my fabulous reviewers: jerseygirl13, Pottergirl, Melee, and DaggerQuill (nice. very nice). That is really all I have to say. Other than "hey, give feedback!" But that's implied, or so I should hope. Uh...look for some hot action next chapter, probably. Hey! Give feedback!


	4. Riding

There was another thing she missed about America, Sarah thought: riding was so dull in England. It was always enjoyable, but there was never anything exciting about it here. In America, she never knew when she would come across a beautiful lake or river, or even a particularly pleasant grove of trees. But here in England the earth was too tidy and trim. Trees around a pond were arranged _just so_—she could tell just from looking what the shape of the land was for miles around. It was almost tedious.

Still, riding did give her time to think, and Sarah needed lots of that. It had been shocking seeing James the night before, although she couldn't quite place why—it wasn't as though they hadn't seen each other for years, only a few months. She supposed it was because she'd never seen him outside of his reporting capacities. To see him at a party, in a formal cravat and jacket, was not something she had been prepared for.

It was probably because she hadn't been expecting it. Had he even mentioned it when she left New York three months ago? She thought back to the day she had left for England, trying to remember if James had given any hints that he, too, would be crossing the Atlantic.

_New York Harbor _

_Morning of March 18, 1788_

The first time that Sarah had left for England, James refused to even say good-bye, instead turning his back and folding his arms.

This time, though, he dashed across the dock to her and hugged her so tightly that she dropped her bags.

"James!" she laughed into his shoulder as she hugged him back. "For goodness' sake, I'll be home by the New Year!"

"Too long!" he insisted. He pulled back and held her hands in his. "I'll miss you terribly."

"I shall miss you too," she said. She was surprised to find tears welling in her eyes, and blinked them away quickly. "I'll write, James, don't worry—"

A rich, deep voice interrupted her. "James isn't the only thing you'll miss if you don't hurry," Moses said. "Your ship's about to leave!"

"Oh, it can wait," Sarah said, and stood on her tiptoes to hug him goodbye. "I feel so silly—it's only for a few months." She shook her head. "I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone."

"We're noticing already," Moses said, and smoothed her hair. "Safe journey, Sarah."

"Thank you, Moses," she said happily, and turned back to James. 

"_Don't_ forget to write," he said fiercely.

"Like I could!" She squeezed his hand and laughed sadly. "Now I really ­_do_ have to leave." She picked up her luggage and walked up the plank, handed her bags to the steward and leaned on the railing. "Goodbye!" she called, and waved furiously.

As the ship sailed away, she kept her eyes on James' bright hair until it blended into the morning sun.

_Bellevue Woods_

_Morning of June 24, 1788_

No, Sarah frowned; James had said nothing to indicate that he would be leaving for France. In fact, hadn't he asked her to write to him? Why would he have done that, if he intended to sail a week later?

It was very puzzling indeed.

The sun was almost directly overhead her now, and Sarah suddenly remembered her promise to be back for lunch. She gently guided her horse into a quick canter and resolved to think about James _after_ she had eaten.

**

Edward cleared the plates from the table and Sarah frowned at her mother.

"Note? What note?"

Her mother fluttered her hands. "Your friend from last night sent something over this morning," she said. 

"Oh!" Sarah said, and looked around. "Where is it?"

"Here, miss," Edward said, and handed it to her.

Sarah eyed the wrinkled flap of the envelope. "You didn't read it, did you, Mother?"

"Er."

Sarah felt as if something very personal had been taken from her. "If anything else comes from James—Mr. Hiller—it's personal, please."

"Sorry, darling," her mother chirped, "but he is a handsome boy, and your father and I thought—"

"_What?_"

"It was just an idea." Lady Phillips pouted. "Really, we were surprised it hadn't occurred to you. You are seventeen, after all."

"Yes. I am." Sarah sighed heavily. "I would appreciate it," she said, "if any incoming mail directed to myself reached me without interference."

"All right, darling," her mother said. "But I do hope that you'll think about the prospects of—"

"Mother!"

** end Chapter Four

A/N: One more plug for the Liberty's Kids Pursuing Happiness Forum at also like to request that if you like this fic, you check out my other ones here at ff.n. And give feedback!

Thanks to awesome reviewers Ruberta, Melee, jerseygirl13, DaggerQuill, and Pottergirl. Y'all rock!


	5. Letters

1: The first drafts of James' note to Sarah, as retrieved from his room at the "Ocean's Roar."

Dear Sarah:

I guess it must have been surprising seeing me last night. I know I didn't tell you I was sailing to Europe, and the explanation for that is simple: I didn't know myself until a week after you left. You see, I was setting type for the new issue of the Manhattan Times when an unexpected guest dropped by. Surely you remember the article I did on Sybil Ludington during the war? Well, the subject herself came in to thank me. I guess it took her a while to get the paper, and

Dear Sarah:

Were you as surprised as I was to see me last night?

Dear Sarah:

I'll bet you run into old story subjects all the time. Funny story

Dear Sarah:

Hey, remember Sybil Ludington?

Dear Sarah:

There's a perfectly good explanation, I swear.

Dear Sarah:

Of all the stupid things I've ever done

2: A correspondence.

Dear Sarah:

I hope this reaches you happy and well.

I can only imagine how surprising it must have been to see me last night. Hopefully I can explain adequately so that you're not upset with me.

After some unforeseen difficulties the week after you left, I decided to visit Henri in France and do a story on the citizens' oppression there. He tells me that it reminds him of America before the war, so I think my readers will be interested in a feature. You may be wondering why I decided to leave so soon. Well, Sybil Ludington (remember her?) came to New York to talk about my artice on her, and [the following is scratched out; Sarah squints to make out the words] _we got to talking did you know her father's a colonel? the insane girl carries a gun everywhere _[the words are no longed crossed out] long story short, I bought a ticket for Paris that afternoon.

I'm staying with Henri and Lafayette while I'm in France, but for a week I'll be at the "Ocean's Roar" in Scaithe's Ebb. I'll be there until Monday. I understand if you can't get away, but if you'd like to drop by I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours,

James

Dear James: 

You may trust that your explanation is more than adequate; and also trust that no explanation would have been sufficient. I was so glad to see you last night—a familiar face among my mother's friends! I may have forgotten my manners. I hope you will not think the worse of me for it. 

Your talk of a French revolution is intriguing, and a little frightening. I have seen enough of war. I wish to live peacefully and happily, free to follow my own pursuits. You may say that war is "news," but I would rather that news be of creation, such as Dr. Franklin's inventions, or towns being founded, than of such things.

On Saturday night my parents and I will attend a party at the Pembroke estate. Would you care to establish a presence there?

Truly,

Sarah

Dear Sarah:

War is news, but I'd rather have no news than that news. You and I are in concord there. A life peaceful and free, in America or France or _anywhere_, really—it sounds idyllic. I can't imagine a better way to live. Hopefully our new nation will fit the bill (ha ha!).

I'm so glad we met, Sarah—do you know you're the only person I can really talk to like this? I just thought you should know.

See you Saturday.

James

** end Chapter Five

Note: Well, ff.n is being snotty and isn't letting me see my reviews, so I can't thank you lovely, _lovely_ feedbackers by name. But I will en masse: You're wonderful! I love you!


	6. A Very Nice Ball

James had arrived at the Pembroke estate through rather unusual means: an open window in the east drawing room, to be exact. (He hadn't wanted to waste time persuading the doorman to let him in—instead, he decided that a more direct route was appropriate.) Cocking his head, he listened for the sound of voices and music. The ballroom was to the left, he thought; and straightening his jacket, he walked briskly toward it, humming under his breath.

Half an hour later, there was no Sarah in sight and James had been making small talk with Lady Pembroke for what seemed like hours.

"And tell me, Mr. Hiller," she cooed, "do you have any balls as nice as this in America?"

"None, milady," James said patiently, "although we do have some swell barn-raisings."

"Oh." Lady Pembroke gave an uncertain smile. "That does sound nice."

"You see—" James began, but stopped suddenly, because Sarah and her parents had just entered the room and he was having difficulty talking and breathing at the same time. She was a fantastic dream of loveliness. The gown she was was a familiar blue, the same color as her favorite dress during the war. It wreathed her like fairy silk, swirling around her ankles and draping her shoulders. Her hair was fashionably styled, with silver butterfly pins framing her coiffure. She was stunningly radiant. James swallowed and excused himself from Lady Pembroke. 

Before he could approach Sarah, however, a tall fellow darted beside her and bowed low over her hand. _Jerk_, James thought before he could stop himself. Well. He took the lost moment as an opportunity to duck into the men's lounge and, for the eighteenth time, straighten his cravat. 

He returned to the ballroom in time to hear her say, "Thank you for your kind invitation, milord! My parents and I will surely hold you to it."

"Do that, Lady Phillips." The young man pressed her gloved hand to his lips.

Sarah's laugh didn't reach her eyes. "Lady Phillips is my mother," she said. "I'm just Miss Phillips. Or Sarah."

"Sarah," the gentleman repeated. "And please, call me Thomas."

Sarah smiled politely. "Certainly, milord—Thomas."

James could stand it no longer and loudly cleared his throat. Sarah half-turned, and as she caught the light he was again amazed by her luminous beauty. 

"James!" she exclaimed, grinning rapturously. "You did make it out!"

"Yes!" he replied enthusiastically. "Oh—" he remembered, and bowed carefully over her hand. After straightening, he nodded to the other young man. "Good evening, sir," he said.

"Good evening," the gentleman said shortly. He sounded unhappy; James felt an unaccountable surge of victory. 

"Thomas," Sarah said deliberately, "may I present James Hiller, currently of Manhattan. James, may I present Thomas Waltham, son of Lord Pembroke and Baron of Thame."

_Oho_, James thought as the two young men eyed each other distastefully. He saw a priveliged man from Sarah's birthplace, with lands, manners, and titles—who would obviously be well-liked by her parents. Thomas saw a boy whom Sarah obviously knew well, still stylish in an untailored jacket, who was undoubtedly and utterly a Yankee.

"I see," Thomas said curtly.

"Indeed," James replied. _Well, if that's the way it is,_ he thought, and again bowed to Sarah. "May I have the honor?" he asked. 

Sarah had been watching the two of them with a thoughtful expression. "I would be glad to," she replied.

James grinned boyishly at Thomas as he tucked Sarah's hand into the crook of his elbow. "If you'll excuse us," he said, and sauntered to the dance floor, leading Sarah with his head held high.

"Insolent American," he heard Thomas mutter before the other boy strode off.

_I win!_ James thought cheerfully.

**

Later That Night

Sarah laughed happily as James lifted her and swung her in time with the waltz. They had been dancing with each other for hours, but she still felt light on her feet. She had long since stopped noticing Thomas standing by the wall and only saw the other dancers—especially James.

He had definitely changed, she concluded. His short stay in France had done wonders: he hadn't lost his competitive edge, judging by his exchange with Thomas earlier, but he had gained some other quality. It looked and sounded awfully like…_charm_.

Whatever it was, it was wonderful. Sarah hadn't had this much fun at a party since her first one, two years before she left for America, and even that memory was rapidly paling in comparison to this night. Each dance was wonderful, the music was perfect, her dress was beautiful—Sarah felt the urge to start laughing and never stop. 

The waltz ended, and Sarah landed giddily beside James. "That was lovely!" she exclaimed.

"Yes!" James kept his hands on her waist and laughed. "Lovely lovely. Like you."

Yes, it was definitely charm that James had picked up. 

*** end Chapter Six

A/N: Wow, it's been about a trillion years since last update, huh? Sorry 'bout that, folks! I ran into a bit of real life. On the plus side, I can see reviews again! Whoo! So, thank you to: DaggerQuill, Meg429, Beautiful Mind, Melee, Ruberta, Pottergirl, and jerseygirl13. I love you guys. Really.

This chapter took a while because I had to not only work out some plot stuff (heh) but research proper 18th century British forms of address, and make sure that "Baron of Thame" wasn't a weird thing like the "Prince of Wales" or "Duke of Glasgow" or anything. So, yeah. Historical accuracy, rock.


	7. Socialization

James took Sarah's arm and led her into the orangery, where she looked at him with laughing eyes and a smile threatening to burst from the corners of her mouth.

"What's this?" she said. "I hope you haven't been too susceptible to my mother's suggestions."

"No!" James said, maybe too quickly. "None of that. Besides, you're too proper and--oh, what's the word? English for me."

She swatted him playfully with her fan. "Now, now, we're not at war any more!"

He rubbed the spot where she'd hit him. "That's true, I suppose," he admitted. "But we're not exactly allies, either."

"My family may be English by blood," Sarah said, becoming a little more serious, "but we've always supported independence and-- and people. We've never owned slaves and we're not-- Why did we start to talk about this? This is a party!"

James stuck his thumbs into his waistband and shrugged. "Sorry to have brought up a touchy subject."

"It's not a touchy subject, I just don't-- oh, never mind. What did you want to talk about?" Sarah spread her dress and sat on a bench, looking up at him expectantly.

"I-- um. It'll sound silly." He ignored her shifting her skirts to make room for him and remained standing, fidgeting.

"Probably," Sarah said dryly, "but I'm used to it."

"Thanks for your conifidence, Miss Phillips," he said. "What I wanted to talk to you about was-- okay. See, the thing is, I wasn't exactly telling the truth when I saw you at the ball last week."

"Whatever do you mean?" She sounded suspicious, but not very surprised.

"It's true that I stayed with the Lafayettes in France," he said carefully, "and it's true that I want to write a story. It's true that there's something big going on over there."

"And? The part that isn't true?" Sarah wasn't as angry as he worried she would be, but maybe that would come later. He took a deep breath.

"ItookaboatfromCalaistocomefindyou," he said. That had come out more quickly than he expected.

She lifted an eyebrow. "What was that?"

James breathed again. "I'm not writing a story about King George," he said. "Who cares? He's mad!" Sarah's shoulders straightened and her chest puffed up, but before she could indignantly interrupt him, he rushed on, saying, "I wanted you to-- to help me. To help me write my story in France. There's so much going on, I can hardly keep track of it, and you take much better notes than I do, and Henri's no good at anything but cafe recommendations..." He trailed off. She was staring at him incredulously. "So, um, that's it. That's why I came to England, and I'm sorry I lied to you, but I really need your help, and I-- I want you to be there with me."

She opened her mouth, but before she could reply, he heard footsteps behind him. "Thomas," she said, and stood. The English boy bowed to her, pointedly ignoring James.

"I have not had the pleasure of dancing with you all night," he said, and held out his arm. Sarah looked back at James, who was looking at the ceiling and rolling his eyes.

"Certainly," she said, and James snorted. "Let me-- ah, let me just set my bouquet down in the anteroom, by my wrap." Although she spoke to Thomas, she looked pointedly at James while she did so. His heart jumped. Was she giving him a hint?

"I'll escort you there," Thomas said.

_Well, damn._

"Yes, of course," Sarah said, and preceded him out of the orangery, casting one last intentful look at James. Thomas kept his eyes on her until they passed out of sight.

"Thanks for the help," James said sarcastically to the air, and sat down on the bench where Sarah had spread her skirts a few moments before.

Who wanted to dance at a stupid ball anyway?

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Sarah hadn't seen James since Thomas had whisked her out of the orangery. She'd been trying to steal a few minutes away from the host's son to look for James, but no luck, he'd been following her everywhere: to the anteroom to drop of her bouquet, to the foyer to ask the doorman if her friend Marjorie Beaufort had arrived, to the refreshments table for a sip of punch. 

Well, if she couldn't speak to James in private, she'd have to find another way to communicate with him. She finished off her glass of punch and set it down, smiling at Thomas. "I'm off to powder my nose," she said, and before Thomas could say he'd escort her there, too, she stepped rapidly away from the table and down the hall to the washrooms. In turning a corner, she brushed into a lady's maid returning from the kitchens.

"Pardon me, miss!" the maid said hurriedly.

"Not at all!" Sarah protested. "The fault was mine-- but, pardon me, are you on an errand?"

"Only to gather the used plates and glasses," the maid said. "May I help you with anything?"

"Yes, actually!" Sarah exclaimed. "Can you find me a piece of paper and a quill? And a place to write away from the dancing-room?"

The maid cocked her head in thought. "Follow me, if you don't mind it," she said. "You can use the study."

Perfect, Sarah thought, and followed her down another hall to a small room with a large desk.

"I'll wait for you, to clean the quill," the maid said, and Sarah apologized for being a bother.

The maid laughed. "To tell the truth, I'm glad to have some peace! You don't mind my sitting, do you?"

"I wish you would," Sarah said, and pulled out a small piece of paper to write a note to James.

When she finished, she stood, and handed the inky quill carefully to the maid. "Thank you," Sarah said, and blew on the paper to dry it. When the ink was completely dry, she folded it and tucked it into her sleeve. Taking a deep breath, she retraced her way back to the dancing-room.

Thomas was waiting for her, and danced once more with her before she claimed to be too tired. "I've been dancing all night!" she said with a half-laugh, making her way to the anteroom.

"I noticed!" Thomas said, with the same sort of laugh, sliding through the crowd of people beside her. "Who is that young American?"

Oh, just what she needed.

"James-- Mr. Hiller is a close friend of mine. We worked together in America during the war." She lifted her chin. See what you make of that, she thought.

He tapped his leg with his hand and nodded. "Understandable. He seems to be the type to require a lady's work."

"Actually, I volunteered," she said smoothly. Was that James' bright hair she saw on the other side of the room?

"Well, what's past is past," he said just as smoothly, bringing her attention back to the conversation. "I'm glad to see you back home in England, Miss Phillips."

Home? Did he think she wanted to live in England for the rest of her life? Sarah shook her head. Their work during the war, the press, her relationship with James...it was all too complicated to explain so briefly.

They reached the anteroom, and Sarah picked up her bouquet and wrap. She allowed the note to James to fall into the flowers, and hoped that Thomas hadn't noticed.

"I'm going to get some air," she said. Miraculously, he made no offer to accompany her, but looked thoughtful. Maybe their conversation had made him think twice about his flirtation.

She made her way straight to the orangery, where she hoped to find James. He wasn't there, but the bench was warm-- he must have just left.

In the hopes that he would return, she left her bouquet on the seat, and took several deep breaths of the fresh, green air before returning to the crush of the dancing-room. Thomas was standing on the other side of the room talking with his mother; she made for her parents, who were at the refreshment table.

"I'm rather tired," she said. "Would you mind terribly if I took the carriage home early?"

Her mother nodded. "Not at all, darling, just send it back. These events can be exhausting if you're not used to them."

Sarah's father squeezed her hand, and she slipped out to the foyer. "Call our carriage, please," she said to the footman, and tapped her foot. If James got her note soon, she wanted to be home.

* * *

James had stood up to take a closer look at the garden before leaving, but he ducked behind a bush when he heard Sarah come in. If she wasn't going to stick around for him, he certainly wasn't going to talk to her. She moved around the bench for a few moments, then left. 

Good! He didn't want her and her snotty English boyfriend coming around here together anyway. James went quickly over to the bench, pulling leaves out of his hair, and picked up her bouquet.

Well, she did smell good -- he couldn't fault her for that.

And she did have very fine red hair.

But other than that-- He saw a corner of white in the pink bouquet, and plucked it out gingerly.

It was a folded piece of paper, and on one side it read, "To James".

He unfolded it and read it.

end Chapter Seven

* * *

A/N: So I haven't updated in about eighteen months. A heh! But I've written a lovely big (well, bigger than usual) chapter to make up for it! 

I sort of dropped this story, as I didn't have a definite idea of where it was going, but then I went back and reread it (thanks to my lovely reviewers, who kept reminding me of it!) and now I have a clearer idea of how I'm going to play it out. Hooray!

So, thanks to orange-InuYasha, lklvr14, hallo, shock, P.I.D., Rose-Wisteria, Angharad, SpelCastrMax, Among the Roses, Hydrangea777, dragonmaster88, ThunderStorm-8, Aura, NalanaSpinderOfSouls, JDP, neosun7, Divagurl277, Mystified Providence, SilverRainbow223, Kikyoni, EreshkigalGirl, Emma, and jerseygirl13.

ALL OF YOU helped remind me of this story and how much fun it was to write! This chapter is for every one of you!


	8. Not Quite Romeo and Juliet

Although the carriage window was open, letting in the cool night air, Sarah fanned herself as she looked out at the lawns and neatly gardened groves along the road. 

She hadn't been thinking about anything when she wrote that note to James -- only that she didn't want to spend her time at a thousand parties with men like Thomas Pembroke who only cared about American independence if it affected their family's land holdings. Not when there was real news going on somewhere else, especially somewhere so close.

But that didn't make it acceptable to run off on a moment's impulse, did it? Wasn't it selfish to give in to her own desires instead of staying with her family?

Sarah shook her head firmly. No, she decided: the selfish thing would be to waste her time doing nothing of consequence in England instead of reporting on the revolution in France. France was where the news was; France was where she knew she had to go.

The carriage pulled up at the Phillips house, startling Sarah out of her meditation. She'd barely noticed the thirty-minute ride home, but she thanked the coachman as he handed her down, and gathered her skirts to climb the steps to the front door.

She had quite a bit of preparation to do, and little time in which to do it.

* * *

Sarah's note was carefully refolded, and it along with her bouquet was now tucked into James' waistband. 

He could get to her house in ten minutes, if he cut across the lawn and pressed the horse -- the young Mr. Pembroke's horse, actually, who James had thoughtfully liberated from the oppression of the stables and was now attempting to corral into something of a gallop. The horse was having none of it. When he wasn't whinnying loudly and shaking his head, he was walking carefully back to the stables and nudging the door with his nose.

"All right, have it your way!" James muttered. With an exasperated huff, he dismounted and led the horse back to his stall. There was nothing for it: James crossed the stable to the stall of Lady Pembroke's dewy-eyed white riding mare. "If Sarah sees me on a horse this girly, I'll never hear the end of it," he said through clenched teeth as he unhooked the reins and slipped the bit into the mare's mouth. "Let's go, Fairy Snowflake or whatever your name is." He led the mare out of the stable and closed the door carefully before mounting her quickly and pressing her into a quick trot.

Unheeded by either of them, Sarah's bouquet lay in the mud and straw where it had fallen from James' clothes.

* * *

He arrived at the Phillips house in time to see the carriage pull away from the front, and the last of Sarah's blue skirts disappear as the door closed. 

"Plan B," James said, and guided the horse around to the back of the house. Maybe there was a window or another door he could open to catch Sarah, and let her know that he'd gotten her note and was here to--

A window did open, on the top floor of the house. Sarah appeared, her hair and gown fluttering in the soft evening breeze. James sat stock-still and tried to sink into the saddle. She took several deep breaths and turned as if to move away when she caught sight of him. He hoped she couldn't see his face burning-- he hadn't meant to be caught spying on her (not that he was spying on her, but he was sure that was what it looked like, and dammit, what had he been thinking? She would change her mind and stay here with her parents and it was all his fault for taking the stupid girly white horse around to the back of the house).

"--Hey," Sarah said.

"Er, hey," he said.

"I take it you got my note?" she said. Was it his imagination, or did the moonlight reveal a little blush in her cheeks, too?

"Yeah," he said. "And, I--"

"Well," she said.

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence.

"I have to pack things," she said.

"Good," he said. "Good...things."

"Yes," she said.

Another silence.

"Well, I'll be...here," he said.

"Right," she said. She left the window and disappeared inside the house.

James smacked his forehead and slumped forward onto the horse's neck.

* * *

"Two trunks?" he said. "You brought two trunks?" 

"Yes," Sarah said mildly. She'd changed out of her ballgown, and was wearing a dark green travelling dress with sensible boots. "I wear clothes, James, in case you hadn't noticed."

He had.

"Well-- what, are you going to carry it? Dover's over three hours away on horseback--"

Sarah pushed a strand of blazing hair out of her face and raised her eyebrows at James. "And four hours if we take a carriage, which I intend to do. _You_ may do what you like."

"Fine!" James said loudly. "I'll take your stupid carriage and not spend three hours tiring myself out. But I do it under duress!"

Sarah, who had lifted and tied her trunk to the back of the cab while he spoke, only smirked.

"I'm blaming you when my parents write," she said.

* * *

A/N: This fic is so much fun to write. :) I really hope you all are enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it! And I can't wait to get to France next chapter... 

Thanks again to my awesome reviewers, who really, REALLY keep me going (and like I said last time, motivated me to start writing again!): Elizabeth-Argent, prettyinpinkgal, Godsgirl16, lovefood-t, DaggerQuill, SimplyShelby, Abster1, orange-InuYasha, lklvr14, hallo, shock, P.I.D., Rose-Wisteria, Angharad, SpelCastrMax, Among the Roses, Hydrangea777, dragonmaster88, ThunderStorm-8, Aura, NalanaSpinderOfSouls, JDP, neosun7, Divagurl277, Mystified Providence, SilverRainbow223, Kikyoni, EreshkigalGirl, Emma, aaaand jerseygirl13! HOLLA!


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